


The Household Series

by Profruck



Category: Alien: Covenant, Prometheus (2012)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Other, Pre-Canon, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 14:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11693925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Profruck/pseuds/Profruck
Summary: When David still had a family.





	The Household Series

“David.”

That was the first chime.

By the time David arrived at the bathroom, Weyland had already left, leaving a trail of water stains, the shapes of which remained highly distinguishable against the glassy white floor. The entire house looked like it was constructed not with, but within a key of a piano. That was the way of Weyland’s design. He was the man who wore all gray in all white. An easy target. An easier beacon to look up to.

David decided to clear the stains, as they disturbed him greatly.

“David.”

That was the second chime, the one that echoed in his system. He was fundamentally programmed to be loyal to Peter Weyland and Peter Weyland only. Loyal being the more sentimental caption, he was to obey his every word.

David put down the mop, took up a towel, and hurried out.

Weyland was walking to the bedroom. David caught up with him halfway through. He leaped a little, in order to wrapped the towel around the man’s shoulders.

As he did so, Weyland’s expression showed slight disapproval of such behaviour, which David had yet to learn to be unrecommended etiquette-wise.

Drying himself, Weyland sat down by the bed, a sign for David to start dressing him, while reciting to him the schedule of the day.

Advancing towards the late-afternoon, David was interrupted.

“Do you think it’s time I produced an heir, for the Enterprise’s sake,” said Weyland, “a daughter, maybe? A girl, a woman, in the household.”

This topic had zero relevance to what was previously being addressed. David assumed thus that it was purely a whim.

“For the Enterprise’s sake, I wouldn’t know,” he answered, ready to move to the next item.

However, Weyland, though clearly in more of a hurry than usual, did not intend to keep up.

“A woman. What does that invoke in you?” Weyland leaned closer towards him, as if trying to study the nuances on his face the way David did his.

David continued to tie the shoelaces. Several traces fleeted his mind. He saw the image of the drowning Ophelia, as well as of playboy bunnies. Then, emerging from a completely different sector of his processor, there was the warm, tender remembrance of a red-headed young girl. She was bathed in sunlight. She looked quite happy.

If he would only forward this to the searcher, David would have recognised in less than a second that the girl was Weyland’s late sister. But because David had never seen her, he decided for it to be an input of Weyland’s personal memory, which should be protected by being overlooked.

Therefore he replied, “rather a female version of you, sir.”

He waited for Weyland to rise up, laugh, and say, “that must not be very pleasant. It will have to be the other way then. I doubt you’ll hate it.”

“Hate what?” David felt compelled to rise to his feet as well.

“A brother,” said Weyland on his way out.

David paused, struck by a certain kind of confusion never before encountered. The word, not unlike the former one, was automatically processed through the search engine, and the results organized. Yet something was left unsolved during the process, almost the scale of a lurking programming flaw, nevertheless not as frustrating. He had reasons to believe he was experiencing a simulation of subjective feelings. It stung a little.

When Weyland was about to descend the stairs, David couldn’t help but asked, almost in a shouting manner, “Permission to dye my hair?”

The engineer stopped. From this angle, only two wrinkles around the jaw area were visible, hinting at a smile.

“You’ve been learning things without me,” Weyland turned, “and may I ask why?”

“I’ve come of age, father,” David said looking at him, biting on a few syllables.

Weyland didn’t look away. David could see the contorted colours against his iris, the thin red lines, and the tiny black spot creeping at the edge of his eyelid. It was blood congestion, an aftermath of being overly industrious for an overly long time.

David wondered what Weyland, with his lightly myopic eyes, saw, before he reduced it to something worthy of a smirk.

“Learning things, David,” chimed him, disappearing into the blinding whiteness of the design of this house.


End file.
